


Another Love

by callunavulgari



Series: God Complex [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e17 Flash Back, Handcuffs, Jealousy, M/M, Shady Harrison Wells, name kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6412417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you,” Barry confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created. “Just you,” he adds, just as quiet and unhappy, but with a dawning comprehension. “Eobard Thawne.”</p><p>“Oh, Mr. Allen,” he breathes. A shiver crawls down his spine, dick twitching in his pants. God, it’s good to hear that name again. “Say it again, won’t you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaceOperetta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceOperetta/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Another Love 另一種愛](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024987) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> A couple weeks ago, just after the episode where they come back to Earth 2, my brain went back to God Complex. What is God Complex? You don't actually have to read that one (though you should, because I like it more than this one) as long as you keep in mind that the basic premise is that Earth 2 Wells and Barry are sleeping together because Barry has Thawne related issues. So my brain went back to that, and went, well shit, Harrison's not going to want to keep things up with Barry now that his daughter's there, is he? He'll hide it, and Barry will be hurt, and then they'll eventually have angry sex annnnd... I procrastinated and didn't write it, even though it stayed in my head for ages.
> 
> And then last night's episode happened. And my brain was all about handcuffed to wheelchair sex and name kink and closure and it was great. So I started writing that.
> 
> Then I went, oh my gosh, Heather. You know what's a great idea? _Combining them_. So I did. And it worked out quite well.
> 
> Also, the alternating between Harrison and Wells was intentional. I feel like Barry, even after they've been intimate, would fall back on referring to him as Wells most of the time. So. That's not just me being a lazy editor. Promise. That said, this is unbetaed. Hopefully it doesn't show as much as I think it does, but I'll hopefully catch the mistakes on my third read-through tomorrow. (Because holy god I've been writing for hours and I need to not be sitting in this chair anymore.)

Wells isn’t an easy man to be around. Barry has known that from the beginning. His Wells, _any_ Wells, was bound to be exactly what his biography advertised: arrogant, prickly, brusque, and at times contemptuous. All true, according to Wells himself, but then, that wasn’t this Wells, was it?

This Wells, this Harrison, this _Harry,_ as Cisco’s grown fond of calling him, is all of that and more. He’s like a familiar outline that hasn’t been shaded right. Red where Thawne was blue, light where Thawne was dark. They both had the same sort of mind, and where they didn’t match, Thawne had clearly adopted the behaviours that he was expected to have over the years.

And this Wells does have that. He does. The variations don’t matter much, though they should. This Wells is quicker to anger. Less charming, or maybe just less willing to slow down his world long enough for others to understand him. He likes his coffee with cream instead of black, has an aversion to anything with peanuts in it — it wasn’t an allergy, Barry had checked — and for some reason, actually likes the music of the twenty-first century.

He has the same relentless drive though. The same tuft of hair that would never lay flat, no matter how many times it was smoothed over with quick, darting, callused hands. And he smiles the same way, if given a good enough reason to do so. Thawne had always smiled like he had a secret he was just waiting to tell you. This Wells has that too, but it isn’t quite as sharp, the edges more rounded out, and Barry is reasonably sure that this Wells has no more secrets to hide. Not ones that would mean anything at any rate.

But the biggest difference, Barry thinks, is that this Wells doesn’t only have the mind of a scientist. No. This Wells has the heart of a father to go along with it.

Constants and variables.

Harrison Wells is possessive, obsessive, and dangerously protective. These are all shared traits. Thawne had had them as well. There’s a patch of skin high on Barry’s collarbone, though not quite high enough to be revealed by a gaping shirt collar, that remembers the feel of Thawne’s lips. His teeth. His tongue. That aches for it even. Sometimes, at his lowest points, Barry will urge Harrison’s mouth towards it, and Harrison will give him a sharp, quelling look, and _bite_.

Barry knows that what they’re doing isn’t the greatest idea. Their relationship, if you could call it that, doesn’t exactly fit with the typical lover’s paradigm. Barry has an itch that needs scratched, and Harrison occasionally scratches it for him, that’s all. It’s a mostly unspoken, mutually beneficial agreement that none of their friends know about.

And then they bring Jesse back through the rift, and everything stops. From the moment they set foot onto Harrison’s Earth, his attitude towards Barry changes. It’s subtle, the distance that he puts between them, but Barry can feel it like it’s a gaping chasm. So he does what he does best. He ignores all the signs and plays the hero.

When they find Jesse, or rather, when their team tracks down Zoom’s hideout, there’s a moment. Barry’s balled up fist clenches against his glass cage and he watches them all pour into the room, his friends, his team, his family, whatever you’d call their smorgasbord of mixed parts. His eyes, for that moment, don’t go to Cisco. They don’t go to the caricature of Caitlin Snow, or to his own awkward, ungainly form. They don’t even go to the woman who’s been at his side his whole life — who knows him better than anyone else alive. No, instead, his eyes go to Wells. And in that moment, he thinks that the reason for the man's clear, quiet desperation, is Barry himself.

Barry forgets, for just that moment.

And then Harrison rushes past him, crying out his daughter’s name, and Barry remembers.

It doesn’t go away. They emerge through the breach, seal it behind them, and at the last minute watch Zoom drag Jay’s corpse through the closing portal. A horrible closing act, yes, but back to normal.

He should have expected it, really. With Jesse back, there’s no reason for their arrangement. Harrison has what he wants. He still wants Zoom’s death, yes, but the immediate danger is past. He doesn’t need Barry to be at his absolute best anymore.

It hurts.

It isn’t a betrayal, not really. Barry went into this with his eyes wide open. He knew what he was getting out of this. Knew exactly what Harrison was offering. An outlet. A channel for Barry's rage, his lust, love, and hate. And now… nothing. Why let his daughter know that he’s been fucking someone half his age? That would spoil it.

Wells pulls away without a word, and Barry lets him. He stays quiet, even when Jesse makes a run for it. Doesn’t say anything when Wells goes charging off after her. It only makes sense. She’s his daughter. A daughter that’s been kidnapped for the better part of a year by a homicidal masked maniac. Jealousy would be stupid.

Barry drowns his grief and anger in finding new ways to get faster. He works tirelessly around the clock, and can tell that his friends are getting more and more concerned. But what does it matter really? This is what he’s supposed to be doing. Getting faster. Stopping Zoom. It’s everyone else who has lost sight of the end goal.

When the answer comes to him in the form of Wally West, Barry wonders why it took so long for him to see the clear solution.

Harrison gives him a horrible, knowing look, features twisted with judgement, and tells him exactly what Barry already knows.

Not a good idea.

Horrible, really.

Doesn’t Barry know that Thawne’s had years to pick up on Barry’s tells? He’ll know that it’s not him the moment he sees him.

All good points. All true, probably.

He goes anyway.

If anything bad happens, at least he’s going in with both eyes open.

.

Eobard has seen Barry Allen be many things over the years. A loving son. A gifted student. A best friend. A brother. A lover. When he was nine years old Barry and Iris went trick or treating as Team Rocket. At ten he was the winner of his school’s science fair. At eleven… well, Barry Allen can do many things once he puts his mind to it.

One thing that Barry Allen has never been able to do is _lie_.

No matter the lie, big or small, he has never been able to do it convincingly. He stumbles over his own words, a dull flush darkening the nape of his neck as he ducks his head, eyes darting away. It’s the same. Every single time.

And this Barry Allen, despite his own suspicions that he may not even be that, is most definitely lying to him. Not directly, not yet. He’s side-stepping. Omitting key details. But it isn’t until they’ve captured Rathaway that Eobard knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is not his Barry Allen.

So he does what any good scientist would. He conducts an experiment.

.

He hadn’t considered how off-putting that it may have been once the charade was dropped. Barry isn’t even trying anymore, watching Eobard like a hawk as he talks. When Eobard pushes himself to his feet, a part of him balks. Blowing his cover now? After all of these years? To what? Prove a hypotheses that may not even be true?

He rushes Barry, the telltale crackle of red lightning dizzyingly loud in the time vault, and still expects horror. Outrage. He’s counting on it — has, in fact, been waiting for this moment for the last, long fifteen years — the words, ‘because I hate you,’ on his tongue, in his dreams. He’s spent every waking moment dreaming of this.

Instead, he gets nothing. Not even a flinch, an exclamation, nothing. Eobard smirks to hide his unease and retreats across the room, unable to escape the wrongness of being on his feet in front of this man even now. He folds his arms across his chest and watches Barry, inexplicably unsure for the first time in _years_.

He has Barry just where he wants him, and yet.

And yet.

“You know who I am,” he says, already sure of it. “Don’t you?”

Even knowing that this isn’t his Barry, that he’s likely not an impostor at all, but a true Barry Allen, just from somewhere else, Eobard isn’t expecting the shiver of atoms surrounding Barry’s trapped hand, that telltale blur that's a clear attempt to phase straight through the cuff.

He laughs, startled at once by how pleased he truly is by this turn of events, and applauds the boy. “And you’re from the future! Want to know how I know that? See, I haven’t taught my Barry Allen how to phase through objects. Yet.”

Barry chuckles bitterly, the sound dark and unamused, ducking his head against his chest. It’s a move that Eobard has seen a dozen times over — shy Barry Allen with his adorably awkward laugh — but never paired with a laugh like that. When Barry lifts his gaze to meet Eobard’s, his eyes are dark and unflinching. Unafraid.

“Let me out of here, Thawne.”

Eobard feels the breath catch in his chest. He lets it out as a sigh, closing his eyes and savoring the way that name sounds on Barry Allen’s lips. It’s good, so good, and he tells Barry as much. Then he asks him why he’s come here.

And Barry tells him. He needs to go faster. He needs it, and Eobard’s the only one who can tell him.

It starts to click, well and truly, what it means for Barry to be here. For Barry to have had to risk the timeline just to speak to Eobard… It means that he’s dead. That the plan didn’t work and instead of Barry’s corpse rotting in the ground it’s his.

Oh, but it’s the opposite, Barry tells him. Eobard’s won. He went back to his time as Barry was going back to save Nora, and that part is almost believable. Convincing in a way that Barry Allen rarely is. But Eobard has been watching Barry Allen for fifteen years. He knows all of his tells. There’s no doubt that he’s gotten better at it, but the fact is simple.

Barry Allen cannot lie.

He tells Eobard everything that he wants to hear, and when Eobard is able to breathe long enough to think clearly he demands, “Why are you here?”

A singularity. Believable, likely because it had actually happened. Not a total untruth then. And very good to know. Eobard now knows that sometime, likely in the next year or so, that he will die. But at least some chaos will come of it.

He breathes hard through his nose and thinks about all the ways that he could kill Barry Allen. He rights the chair that he’d kicked across the room, and focuses on breathing. Just breathing. Then he thinks some more about killing Barry Allen.

“I don’t need you,” he whispers, and turns just in time to see the dull hurt flicker across Barry’s face. An old wound then. Picked at whenever it looks to be healing. “Do I? Not this you, certainly.”

“You kill me,” Barry says, a mean smirk unfurling across his pretty mouth, “And this Barry, your Barry? Learns it all. Anything happens to me and you never make it back home.”

The smirk twists, going ever meaner, dark eyes glinting a challenge. The darkness looks good on him. “Go on,” he goads, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Kill me, Thawne.”

Eobard’s knuckles go white, nails cutting jagged little half moons into the palm of his hand. He breathes in easy, and lets it out harder. Quietly, he crosses to collapse in the chair across from Barry.

“No,” Barry whispers, that tempting little smile going wicked at the corners. “You’re gonna help me get faster. You’re gonna give me everything I want.”

Eobard quirks a brow, for once feeling outmaneuvered, outplayed.

“And what is it that you want, Barry Allen?”

Barry blinks at him, limbs spread akimbo, and for a moment, Eobard’s thoughts turn from killing him to keeping him. It’s a sharp turn, unadvised and purely hedonistic. He has to breathe in deep again to quell the thought, dislodging the image that’s made its home in his brain. Him, with his hands in Barry’s hair. Barry’s lips, spit-shiny and slick, wrapped around his cock.

No, Eobard thinks. Rathaway was enough of a mistake. He doesn’t have time for a mistake like that.

But then again, he thinks, wondering at that old hurt. Perhaps the mistake has already happened.

Caught, Barry blinks at him. There’s confusion in his eyes, yes, but his cheeks are going ruddy, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “You already know what I want.”

Eobard raises a brow. “Do I?”

Barry nods helplessly, all the fight and bluster going out of him at once. He squirms, and all at once, it’s easier to think of him as Eobard’s Barry again. Not some horrible interloper from the future. Not the Flash that set Eobard on this course in the first place. Just… his Barry. Grown up a little more.

“No,” he sighs, folding his hands between his legs and leaning forward in the chair, canting his body towards Barry. “I don’t think that I do.”

“Bu—”

“At least,” Eobard interrupts, thoughtfully tapping his finger against his lips. Slowly, he starts to grin. “Not _everything_. So, Mr. Allen, I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

The answer is written all over Barry’s face. There’s a story there, behind the pain, the grief, the hopeless lust, and it’s one that Eobard knows he’ll get to live out himself over the course of the next year. He wonders just how many times he fucked this boy before the truth came out. The boy — his Barry — already loves him. Not like this, of course, not yet, but a hero worshiping kind that he’s had since day one.

“Well?” He coaxes, eyes widening. “I’m waiting.”

Barry wets his lips convulsively and swallows, his adam’s apple working. He tugs on the cuff, halfheartedly, mouth turned downwards. He didn’t expect this. Maybe he’d expected closure. Or maybe he’d convinced himself that all he really needed was the formula. But he wants this. And Eobard’s going to make him say it.

“I want you,” he confesses unhappily, a charming pucker between his brows. His eyes dart back up, not shying away for once, to meet Eobard’s. A little bit of steel creeps into his expression again, and Eobard wants to applaud him all over again. What a beautiful creature he’s created.

“Just you,” he adds, just as quiet and unhappy, but with a dawning comprehension. “Eobard Thawne.”

A shiver crawls down his spine, dick twitching in his pants. God, it’s good to hear that name again.

“Oh, Mr. Allen,” he breathes. “Say it again, won’t you?”

“Thawne,” Barry says, tilting his head back to look at him. His eyes glint, challenging and wanting all at once. The mixture, coming from him, Barry Allen, The Flash, is intoxicating. “I want you, Eobard Thawne.”

Eobard shudders, crossing the room to Barry without a thought. He falters, for a moment, caught between conflicting desires. In this moment, Barry Allen is all shiny and new, rife with possibilities. He’s not just some fuck that Eobard’s picked from his former circle of scientific groupies. He’s not someone that he’s picked up for night, and he’s certainly no Rathaway. This is Barry Allen. And now that he has him, he doesn’t know what to do with him.

Eobard hovers in that moment of indecision until he finally relents, sighing happily as he settles into Barry’s lap. He eyes him shrewdly, so close that he can see the way that Barry’s lips part, the way that his eyes dilate from Eobard’s proximity alone.

“Tell me,” he purrs, tucking his ankles together at the base of Barry’s spine. It isn’t very comfortable, and he knocks against the chair a bit, but he’ll be damned if he takes those cuffs off. Not now. “How did I have you the first time?”

Barry’s breath catches, and when it stutters out of him, Eobard can feel it against his lips. “I found you here,” he breathes. “Two days from now, at Star Labs. It was late. Later than—” he cuts off with a shudder as Eobard moves against him experimentally, twisting his hips.

Barry breathes deeply through his nose, and when he catches his eyes, Eobard quirks an inquisitive eyebrow and sneaks a hand under Barry’s shirt. “Later than I’m usually here. I came back for… something. I don’t remember what. You were there.”

“And then what?” Eobard whispers, leaning in to suck a mark into the thin skin high on Barry’s collarbone. Barry goes still all over, his dick twitching violently in the confines of his pants, a little breath of a noise escaping him, a quiet, perfect, “ah.”

“I asked you about Rathaway,” he says, his body trembling as Eobard licks and bites at that perfect mark. “And… and you told me.”

“Did I now?” he asks, idly swiping his tongue across the patch of angry skin. “And how did telling you about my previous lover lead to this?”

He rocks his hips and Barry jolts, mouth falling open in a soundless moan.

“You… I— god, Harrison, I was jealous.”

Eobard’s eyes narrow, and he takes a handful of Barry’s hair and yanks his head back. The trembling line of Barry’s throat suddenly looks very fragile. “That’s not my name.”

Barry swallows roughly, and corrects himself. “Thawne. I was jealous, Thawne. I wanted you and he’d had you.”

“And did you tell me that?”

Barry nods, biting down on his lip when Eobard relaxes the grip on his hair. He strokes it back instead, gentling the rough gesture, and then reminds himself that this is not his Barry. This Barry knows who he is, knows what he’s done, and he’s here still, wanting this. Eobard doesn’t have to be gentle.

“And then?” Eobard asks, though he can guess.

Barry looks at him, eyes bright with memory, and says, “And you let me have you. And kept letting me have you.”

Eobard smirks, reaching between them to finally, finally unzip Barry’s jeans. “Until you found out who I was. And then you kept wanting me anyway, isn’t that right?”

Barry grits his teeth as Eobard gets a hand around him and strokes. “ _Clearly_.”

Eobard hums, pulling away to lick the palm of his hand. “Good to know. Something to look forward to, I suppose.” _Before you kill me_ , he doesn’t add. What would be the point. With luck, this visit will change something, and he’ll survive. And if he doesn’t. Well. That’s on him.

He shakes his head to clear the thought, tightening his grip on Barry’s erection.

“God,” Barry whispers, head lolling back to thump against the arm of the wheelchair. “Yes, like that. Please.”

God, if only he had the time to fuck him. He would lay Barry out on his bed, all pretty and just like this, angry at him, angry at himself, at the very world, for wanting this. He would bend him over, eat him out slow, and then fuck him so hard that even his healing would take awhile to catch up. He could do that. He could. But they don’t have all the time in the world, now do they? Sooner or later, that wraith will come for Barry. And when it does, Eobard doesn’t want to be in its crosshairs.

So he jerks Barry off slowly, until he’s straining against the cuff with every stroke, panting, his eyes glazed over in pleasure. “Thawne,” he breathes, over and over, as if he can’t stop himself.

When it’s over, when Barry tightens up and comes into Eobard’s fist, Eobard gets to his feet easily. He takes a moment to stretch, lazily watching Barry attempt to put himself back together. And when he has Barry’s attention again, he calmly unzips his pants.

He steps in closer, around Barry’s sprawled limbs, until Barry is between Eobard’s thighs, flushed red and perfect. He takes his dick out and paints a trail of pre-come across those plush lips, pushing insistently at the seam until Barry’s jaw relaxes and he lets him inside.

“I assume you’ve done this before, as well?” he asks and Barry glares at him, mouth full of cock, and very pointedly hollows his cheeks and _sucks_.

It’s good. Blindingly good. And the best part is, Eobard doesn’t even have to teach him where to touch, because Barry already knows. He sucks Eobard’s dick like he knows it better than Eobard himself does. And when its done, Eobard stands there for a moment, and weighs the idea of possibly just keeping him. At least for a little while.

But no, Eobard knows what he’s doing. And keeping a future version of Barry Allen all to himself just so he can suck his cock isn’t a part of the plan. Though it’s tempting.

Barry wipes his wet lips, throat working, and Eobard thinks about saying something to mark this moment. Mocking him. Taunting him. All those old tics that he’d never be able to resist if this were the Flash that he started with, rather than the one he made.

The moment passes.

And then the wraith is there. No more moments.

.

Except, of course, for one.

Barry’s hands are warm when Eobard presses the formula into them. They tremble, just for a moment, and Eobard smiles.

“Time to go home, Flash,” he says quietly, using his hold to reel Barry in for a first and last kiss. First for him, last for Barry.

The kiss is hard, unforgivingly hot, and wet. Eobard thinks that Barry might be leaking, but he doesn’t want to pull back and check.

Later, once Barry is gone, he sits down at his terminal in Star Labs. It’s still light outside, but everyone else has gone home for the day.

Eobard is alone with the knowledge that within the year, his plan will fail and he will be dead.

His fingers are steady on the remote. He is calm as he clicks the button to begin the recording. It starts, and all at once, it’s too much. Eobard sighs, reaching up to remove his glasses and flinging them onto the desk. He fold his hands and spends a long moment staring at them, steeling himself for this moment. Then he fixes his eyes on the camera.

“Hello, Barry,” he says.

.

Aside from Hartley, nothing much seems to have changed about his world. Thawne is still gone, Eddie is still dead, Zoom is still Jay, Jesse is still in the wind, and Wells is still angry with him.

“Did it help?” Wells asks, lips pinched tightly together. He steps in, closer and closer, until he has Barry pressed up against the wall. With narrowed eyes, he takes a fistful of Barry’s collar and yanks, pulling the fabric taut, his eyes immediately catching on the fresh mark that’s been worked into Barry’s collarbone. With a scoff of disgust, he lets go of Barry’s shirt, leaving him to stumble back against the wall.

He snorts, lip curled. “Guess it did.”

“You know what,” Barry says with a bite of anger. The memory of Thawne’s fingers under his clothes is still with him, and he can’t bring himself to be ashamed of that. “It actually did. And maybe that makes me fucked up. But that isn’t your business anymore.”

Wells breathes out hard, nostrils flaring, and that’s new too, isn’t it? Thawne’s anger was tightly controlled, only visible if you knew the signs, and released only in sharp bursts of rage when pushed to the breaking point. Harrison Wells doesn’t see the point in controlling his anger. He leaves it all on display, short fuse and all.

“I get it, that this thing we’ve been doing is like, really, _really_ messed up and that you don’t want your daughter to know, but you... you can’t do this. Either you want me or you don’t.”

Wells goes still. His eyelids flutter closed and he makes an incredibly blatant attempt to control his breathing. And then he turns his back on Barry.

“My wife had to talk me into having kids,” he says with a snort, body still angled away from Barry. He’s closed off, everything about his body is closed off, but it’s more open than he’s ever been. “Kids are... They’re small, loud, run around. All I needed was my science, my job, for my joy and happiness. And then,” he pauses, the line of his back tensing and releasing. He lets out a breath. “The moment we had her, all that I wanted was her love. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever see that again. It seems every decision I’ve made lately has backfired on me.”

Even this, Barry hears, unspoken. Even you.

Barry swallows, remembering Thawne’s fingers in his hair. His lips on his throat. There’s a part of Barry that will always miss that. But there’s also a part of him that would miss this too. Not this body, not Thawne’s mind in a stolen body, but Wells _himself_. This Wells. For who he is. Everything that makes him who he is. The man with the mind of a scientist and the heart of a father.

Barry breathes out, feeling broken open at the edges. It takes two tries to clear the ache from his throat. “You just have to trust that in the long run you made the right ones.”

Wells — Harrison, Harrison Wells — turns, his eyes open wide. Barry feels gutted and split in two, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink, just looks, until Harrison drops the thermos that he’s been fiddling with and crosses the space between them.

He pauses, just in front of Barry, hesitating the way that Thawne had, as if unsure of where he wants to put himself the most. Barry smiles, shaking his head to clear the thought away, and takes a step forward, into Harrison’s arms. “Guess so,” Harrison sighs. “I won’t be an easy person to deal with. I’m—”

“Prickly. Yes, I know,” Barry says with a shrug. “I read your autobiography.”

“That wasn’t my—”

Barry taps a finger against Harrison’s lips and smirks.

“I read the one from your world,” he explains. “Some things are the same. This is one of them.”

Harrison raises an eyebrow and for a moment… but no. He’s going to stop doing this, stop comparing them, because if he doesn’t he’s going to drive himself crazy.

“And you’re okay with that?”

Barry snorts.“I knew what I was getting myself into,” he says with a shrug. “Now, how about you get some help finding your daughter from the fastest man alive?”

Harrison’s lip quirks upwards. “And I suppose you know where to find him?”

Barry hums, flashing Harrison a cocky smile. He leans forward, and very quickly, kisses the tip of Harrison's nose. Just to see how it wrinkles. “You know," he says happily. "I just might.”


End file.
